I Know That I’m Worthless

I am about to turn 25 years old and for most of my adult life I have tried to find a reason to not kill myself. I never have been happy for multiple reasons, which I’ll list below. It’s going to sound like I’m whining or complaining about my life, but my hatred for my own life (as well as myself as a person) runs so deep that when someone asks me what I like about myself I honestly can’t answer the question. Five years ago I actually tried to kill myself, and I have no idea how I lived through that attempt. Anyway, here’s the list:

– Hating most of my friends. I feel as though I’ve outgrown them or they don’t particularly fit my personality, but I’m far too introverted and cynical to make any new true friends.

– Having no career. I graduated with a failing average in high school, but graduated summa cum laude from college. However, I had a falling out with my university…so when you combine that with the aforementioned introverted personality as well as a complete lack of understanding of what I want to do with my life, (I want to go to an Ivy League graduate school but I’m lost when it comes to a career path) you get a person who has never worked a temp job that has paid over twelve dollars an hour.

– I still live with my mom, which wouldn’t be so bad if there wasn’t a social stigma behind it and if I didn’t live in such a terrible neighborhood. My mom needs me for support, but try explaining that to a girl you’re interested in. (Which leads me to my final point)

– I’ve never had a girlfriend. There are many reasons for this, some of which have to do with my introverted personality, shyness, and fear of rejection. However, I’m also half Black and Hispanic and have the unfortunate preference for Asian girls. It is an absolute nightmare to have this preference, because for over a decade I have been rejected by girls that I’ve liked and for the most part race played a factor (if it wasn’t the only factor) in their decision to turn me down.

There are many other things that I hate about myself, and throughout the years my hatred has grown. I have come to realize that I’ve lost the ability to care about others, and I’m a cold, unforgiving person. I’ve realized that the majority of my problems only exist because I create them, and who I am as a person causes my own misery. But it’s who I am. I don’t like people, I don’t like life, and because of these things, I’ll never get (nor do I deserve) the things that I want out of life.

Now that I know that the rest of my life will only bring pain and misery (whether or not it is my own doing is irrelevant at this point), I can’t see how killing myself and not feeling anything (I’m Atheist) isn’t the lesser of two evils when you compare it to living in my own personal Hell.